


Mama, Put My Guns in the Ground

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Monsters, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 02:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Sam and Dean haven't been getting along lately. Sam dreams of a time when they do.





	Mama, Put My Guns in the Ground

The Impala roared down the highway in the mist and cold of the pine forest. 

Sam was exhausted.

Dean wouldn't let him roll down the window to get some air because then he couldn't hear the lyrics to the same stupid AC/DC crap he'd been listening to for ages. The burger wrappers from their last pit stop were mixing with the smell of the Impala's interior and believe him, with a couple of fairly large dudes in a very old car there is definitely a lingering smell that has always slightly turned his stomach, because he gets carsick if he isn't the one driving.

So he chose to sleep, because eventually Dean would have to, and then he'd be able to drive, but would have to listen to his own music on his headphones because his brother is a selfish jerk. Things hadn't been great between the two of them recently anyway, and frankly it had become extremely claustrophobic inside the car. Sure, they'd both died for each other, many times, but he couldn't see a life in which this continued on. It was unhealthy and he knew it, but Dean just wouldn't let go. He'd had a chance for it all to be over, once, but his brother seemed to need him so badly that he put Sam's wishes beneath his own fear of loneliness.

And with those thoughts in his head, and the underlying feeling of illness in his stomach, Sam Winchester fell asleep.

***

The field around him was green and beautiful. 

A summer wind blew through the stalks of corn and the green leaves. If it wasn't Kansas, it was somewhere very like it. Sam breathed in deeply. He had missed the simplicity of standing outdoors in the summer, with nothing more on his mind than going to get a beer in the evening.

He turned around and saw a large, rambling old farmhouse, with white chipping paint. There was a wraparound patio that stretched the length of the house. There were chairs on the porch, a hand-hooked rug, and a very elderly dog. Its tail thumped against the old floorboards as he climbed the staircase. 

Sam had been a hunter for most of his life, and generally a quiet house in the middle of a Kansas cornfield might have given him pause. In his dream, it radiated peace, and he felt no trepidation as he ascended the stairs.

"Hello?" he called, as he opened the door.

A warm, friendly interior greeted him; it reminded him of Bobby's somewhat but it felt more like home. Like a home that hadn't ever seen the need for devil's traps or a panic room in the basement. A small fire crackled merrily in the corner, and it was clear that it had only ever known a life in which it warmed the people who sat around it. The entire place gave off the kind of vibe that the family would share a Christmas here.

Then he saw the walls, covered in photographs. Pictures of him, of Dean, of Bobby, of Castiel and Ellen and Jo. His brows drew together in confusion as he saw himself markedly aged in some of them, smiling up at the camera as he held a baby that had grown into a little boy in the next photo, and his arms around a woman he'd never seen. They seemed happy.

"Sam."

That voice like the tires of the Impala through gravel. Castiel.

Sam turned around and looked at his friend. Castiel's face was grave, as usual, and he still wore the trenchcoat and suit.

"Cas?" Sam asked, "Where am I?"

Cas regarded him for a moment.

"I will show you," he replied, "Come upstairs."

Sam followed the angel up the staircase. In a bedroom off to the side, an old man slept peacefully next to an IV. On the bureau beside him lay a silver pistol - a Colt 1911 with ivory handgrips.

"Dean?!" Sam said, very quietly.

"Yes," said Castiel, "I don't think he will be on Earth much longer. I often wonder if Death will come to reap him, as he did for you, Sam."

Sam's eyes filled with tears.

"Can't you...can't you save him, Cas?" he asked, "What's wrong with him?"

Castiel shook his head.

"No, Sam," he replied, "There's nothing wrong with him. He's just old. Everyone dies."

"But...Dean," Sam said, "You brought him out of Hell, Cas, you've healed him countless times, can't you...?"

"There are many things that I could do, and have done, for you and your brother," said Castiel. "Unfortunately I cannot heal old age, because it is not an injury. For time, there is no cure. Even angels do not have dominion over that."

Sam looked around Dean's bedroom. There were more photographs in here, of Dean and Castiel, of the three of them together.

"What happened?" he asked, sitting on Dean's bed. The respirator sighed and whooshed. The heart monitor beeped. Sam studied at the old man's face, trying to recognize his brother in the wrinkled features.

"We won," Castiel said simply. "We won, and you decided it was time to give up hunting. You met Sarah and got married. Dean and I kept hunting until he broke his leg around the age of 65 and he decided to give up as well. This place has been home, for all of us, for many years. You live down the road."

Sam sighed, but it was more like crying.

"So..." he said, "so...in the end, it was okay? Everything was okay? We're happy?"

"Yes," Castiel affirmed. Sam turned to him.

"But you..." he began, "You take care of Dean? You've been here the entire time? What about heaven? The bunker?"

Castiel smiled.

"I'm still an angel, if that's what you mean," he said, "but I chose to stay here. I have always been the Winchesters' guardian angel. I felt it was my duty to watch over both of you, until the inevitable."

"Meaning death," said Sam, turning back to Dean.

Castiel sat down on a chair in the room, and looked down at his hands.

"Yes," Castiel said, "It's been strange, Sam. I always knew you would both age, and die, if you lived long enough. I'm still Castiel. Forever and ever, world without end, amen. Your lives are so short in comparison. It has been...difficult, to say the least."

"When it's over," said Sam, "You'll be - "

"I will return to heaven," said Castiel.

"Will we be there?" asked Sam.

"I don't yet know," said Castiel, "I won't know until it happens. But yes, I take care of Dean now. There isn't anyone else, and you and Sarah have your own lives."

"Thanks, Cas," said Sam. 

Dean's eyes opened. There, in that mischievous green, Sam finally recognized his older brother.

"Sam?" croaked out that voice, that voice like whisky and rock and roll, "hey Sammy...wait. Cas, I think I'm seein' things again, this is Sammy when he was just a kid -"

"It's not your imagination, Dean," said Castiel, "it's Sam."

Dean grinned, and Sam's heart just about broke in two.

"Hey Sammy," he said, "time traveling just like me. You like my new look?"

Sam laughed, but there were tears in his eyes.

"No, Dean," he said, "Not really."

"What do you know?" said Dean, waving him off as he struggled to sit up. "I'm still pretty hot, for an old dude."

"I'm glad that you're happy, Dean," said Sam, "that...we're happy."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Wow, Sam," he said, "you want to stop it with the heartfelt -"

"No," Sam replied, shaking his head, "No, you're not going to do that this time. I'm just happy to see that this is our future. All of us, still together, happy. When was the last time we were happy?"

Dean looked at him as if they'd never been anything but.

***

Sam walked down the stairs and went outside. Dean had fallen asleep shortly after saying hello, and Castiel had indicated they go downstairs to let him rest.

The sun was about to set, and the elderly dog put its head in his lap. He absentmindedly scratched its head as it stared up at him, lifting alternating eyebrows over amber eyes. He looked around at the scenery, blissful...calm. He heard the door open behind him.

"She's yours, Sam," said Cas, "that's Abby. She splits her time between your house and Dean's. Today was our turn."

"Hey Abby," Sam said, and the dog's tail thumped against the boards. There were four chairs out here - one for him, Dean, and Cas – and one for Sarah, he supposed.

"You know, Cas, I'd have thought I was poisoned by a djinn," said Sam, looking out over the cornfield as the sky deepened to twilight, "We never see anything like this. It's hard to trust."

"I know," said Castiel, "but I wanted to show you because one day, you do. Trust, I mean."

The angel was silent for a moment.

"And I need your help," he finished.

"My help?" Sam asked. "With what?"

"There is something here, Sam," said Castiel. "Something dangerous. I cannot let anything harm either of you, nor will I suffer an abomination to shatter the peace you have found."

"So you got me from a time when I was still fighting?" asked Sam.

"Yes," Castiel replied.

"Wow, thanks, Cas," Sam said with derision, but then thought of his brother sleeping peacefully upstairs, all memories of Hell and the apocalypse vanished in favor of hunting, the Impala, and the open road.

Sam nodded. Castiel was right.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"The house is haunted," Castiel said simply. "Or the cornfield. I haven't been able to pinpoint it."

Sam stared out at the silent cornfield and shivered. Why was there always something unsettling about corn, he wondered.

"Since when?" Sam asked, "Hasn't Dean been living here for years already?"

"Yes," said Castiel, "I don't know why it's manifesting now."

"Why can't you do something about it yourself?" Sam asked, "You're a guardian angel."

"Something about this..." Castiel shook his head, "It's different. Stronger. Something broke through the wards, the perimeter, last night – the first time in all these years. Something stronger than angel wardings and demons."

The cornfield, in the darkness, rustled with the wind. And what once was a peaceful scene seemed suddenly threatening.

***

They went inside. Abby padded into the kitchen and curled up near the fire.

Sam sat down at the kitchen table and cracked open a beer.

"So what do you know so far?" he asked.

"Not a great deal," said Castiel, "except that it's more powerful than any spirit I am aware of."

"Well, maybe it's not a ghost," said Sam, "Demon? Angel?"

"No," said Castiel, "Heaven and Hell have made up their differences. Things are as they were before the war."

"Okay," said Sam, "Any local legends?"

"A few," said Castiel, "Mothman, Goatman, that sort of thing."

"Wait, Mothman?" Sam asked, "Wow, really? That story used to scare the crap out of me when I was a kid."

Castiel chuckled.

"What?" asked Sam.

"The idea of you being frightened of anything as a child is...amusing."

"I think that my being frightened of monsters as a child makes more sense than it would for other kids," said Sam.

"Yes," Castiel agreed, after a moment's thought.

"I thought Mothman was a West Virginia thing," said Sam.

"Apparently the stories are being told here as well."

Sam looked at his beer for a while.

"Cas," he said, "There are still hunters, right?"

"Yes," Castiel replied.

"So..." Sam said, "Why me? Why me specifically? Couldn't you have gotten another hunter?"

"No," said Castiel, "because for some reason this creature is going after your family. I mean your family – specifically the family of Sam Winchester. That includes Dean."

Sam shook his head.

"So even now," he muttered, "Even after all this...we're not out. We're never out."

"You're out, Sam," said Cas, "and I want it to stay that way."

"You can't be calling me every time this happens, Cas," said Sam, "I can't be here every day."

"You won't be," said Castiel, "You left the business thirty years ago, Sam, and Dean twenty. This is the first incident that has happened in all that time."

"Okay," said Sam, "Say that's true, and this is ... the final confrontation, or something. Why me? Why now?"

"Because," said Castiel, "I believe this is the end."

***

Sam watched the angel over the top of his beer for a very long time.

"You think Dean is going to die," he said flatly.

"I know it," said Castiel.

"If your idea is to keep us unaware that there are still...things...out there hunting us, then why'd you bring me? I mean, I'd remember this, wouldn't I?"

"I can make sure you don't," said Castiel.

Sam nodded his head slightly.

"As long as you can promise that," he said, "and promise...Dean won't remember either. Let's all have some peace."

Castiel nodded. The only one with the memories would be he himself, but he had always known he would suffer for the Winchesters. It was his job, after all.

"Look, Cas," said Sam, "I don't think it's something like Mothman. Whatever that thing is can't be more powerful than angels. So what is?"

"I don't know, Sam," said Castiel, "aside from other angels, demons, God himself. Everything else is just a monster."

Sam frowned, thinking.

"Hey Cas?" a voice came from upstairs.

"He's awake," said Castiel, and they went upstairs together.

***

"Sammy," Dean grinned from ear to ear, "Thought I was dreaming. I do that now."

Sam smiled and sat on the bed with him.

"No Dean, it's really me," he said. Castiel brought him water, and a tray of food. The old man sat up in bed and started cutting the steak in front of him.

Sam watched for a few minutes as he struggled, and then took the utensils from his brother. Dean's eyes held wordless thanks, embarrassed though he seemed to be to have his brother help him.

"You come over, now," he said, "every Thursday, you and Sarah and Abe. We sit on the porch and if Cas is feeling generous, he lets me have a beer."

Dean winked at the angel sitting in the corner of the room. He hadn't spoken but seemed quite content just to sit there and watch the brothers interact. He seemed pleased with himself.

Dean grinned at Sam, that same old brilliant smile.

"So when were you gonna tell me, Sammy?" he asked.

"Tell you what?" asked Sam.

Dean looked at Castiel, but spoke to Sam.

"That something's after us."

Sam choked and spluttered. He exchanged glances with Castiel, who looked away in a bad pantomime of innocence. 

Dean went back to eating his steak.

"So, Sam," he said quietly, still looking down at his food, "what's he got you hunting?"

Sam cleared his throat.

"Uh, nothing," said Sam, "he, uh, just wanted me to...see you..."

Dean's dark green eyes looked up and his gaze pinned him where he sat.

"Cas wouldn't bring you here unless there was something to hunt," said Dean, "I'm old and senile, but I'm not stupid, Sam."

"Uh," said Sam, "Well, we don't know yet."

"You weren't going to let me in on this one, Cas?" Dean asked, raising his voice.

Castiel looked over at him, guilt written across his face.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he confessed, "I thought it would be best if Sam took care of this."

"Hell no," grinned Dean, "I'm about ready to go again."

"Dean," Sam said, "you're not well enough – you aren't..."

"Shut up, Sam," he said, "We may as well go out guns blazing, right?"

He finished his meal. He moved the tray, and put his hand on the gun with the ivory handgrips.

He stood with some difficulty, and shrugged on that old brown jacket. Dean grinned at Sam over his shoulder and it was as if twenty years fell away from him in that moment. Sam recognized his brother then, and wondered how he hadn't known him right away. 

And for the first time in twenty years, Dean Winchester went hunting with his brother and the angel Castiel.

***

Sam approached the cornfield with his gun high. The darkness closed in on him and his older brother, now an old man whose labored breathing he could hear. 

Sam turned to him.

"Dean, you know, you don't have to - "

"Not another word, Sam," said Dean, "I'm doing this. You're here, we're hunting. The end."

Sam nodded, and walked into the cornfield, nerves on end. Anything that Castiel couldn't handle was definitely something to worry about.

"So when did all this start?" Dean asked.

"What, Cas didn't tell you?" Sam replied.

"No, genius, apparently he wanted to protect me or something," Dean retorted.

"Quiet, both of you," growled Castiel, and the brothers were silent.

The angel stepped forward. A whispering noise shuddered past them, close on their right. Sam and Dean automatically pointed their guns in the direction of the sound, but Castiel held up a hand.

The whispering noise clicked away, now on their left. Sam held up two fingers, mouthing the question _two_? Dean's eyes were wide, and he shrugged.

The whickering, soft sounds melted away into the field. Castiel looked from side to side, suspicious.

And the creature was on him then, knocking the angel blade out of his hand. Sam and Dean went to him and tried to pry the creature off of Cas as it hissed and shook, and suddenly some kind of acid dripped from its mouth onto Castiel's face.

Dean managed to push it off the angel, where it flickered and hissed at him before vanishing. He kept pointing his gun at different areas in the space around himself but the creature did not reappear.

"What the hell was that?" asked Sam, out of breath.

"I don't know," growled Castiel.

"Well we better figure it out," said Dean, "because whatever it was, they got some on you."

Dean gave a pointed look to Sam's house, still distant in the shadows.

"C'mon," he said. "Let's get back to the house. Otherwise we're gonna lead it right to him."

***

Back inside the farmhouse, Sam looked at Castiel's injuries.

"I can't heal them," he said sadly. "Angel powers seem useless in this situation."

"It's OK, Cas," said Sam. "Dean's on it."

Dean was currently looking at some kind of holographic projection in the center of the room.

"You're better at research," grumbled Dean. "You should be doing this."

"Yeah well," said Sam, "I'm from the past, remember? I don't know how to use the new tech."

Dean grunted his assent, and continued moving things around with his hands, flicking past pages.

"What kind of injuries can't be healed by an angel?" Sam asked Castiel.

"Not very many things," said the angel, "but of course I am unaware of anything besides an angel blade doing much damage."

"Do you want to look into this Mothman idea?" asked Sam.

"Dude, Mothman's not from around here," said Dean.

"I know, Dean," said Sam, the familiar exasperation starting to show, "but look, he was only reported in West Virginia for like a year, right? He could've moved, gotten more secretive, who knows?"

"Yeah, but Cas could heal himself from some giant moth monster," said Dean. "Cas is awesome."

Cas preened visibly. Sam darted a look between the two of them, but neither spoke again.

"Well, maybe it isn't actually a monster," resumed Sam, "I mean, look at all the folklore relating to mysterious diseases. People want a word for what they can't explain."

"And so they chose Mothra?" asked Dean, shaking his head.

"You never know," said Sam.

"Please," Castiel interjected, "We won't get anywhere arguing like this."

Sam continued to inspect Castiel's injuries.

"It's like," said Sam, "they aren't healing, they're just getting worse, like acid going through the body. It won't kill you, will it, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head.

"I doubt it," he said, "I have my angelic grace so the vessel should stay alive, but I am unsure what kind of damage it might do long-term. Technically, it is possible to disable the vessel to the point that I would be effectively useless or paralyzed, despite still being trapped in it."

"Well then," said Dean, "just get another vessel."

Castiel looked at the old man.

"I refuse to take another vessel at this time, Dean," he said. "The man whose body this once was has sacrificed enough. I will not ask it of someone again, particularly...now."

Dean stood up.

"Particularly now?" he demanded, "And why is _now_ so important, Cas?"

Castiel looked down at the floor. Blood still seeped through his trenchcoat.

Dean's eyes darted to Sam, who also avoided his gaze.

"Oh, I see," he said, folding his arms. "So this – is this a goodbye party? You could've told me, Cas!"

"I'm sorry, Dean," said Castiel.

"You sure say that a lot," Dean said. "Too much."

"Okay," said Sam, "Let's figure this out - "

"No, Sammy," said Dean, "This is not the way I wanted to find out that I was going to die."

He turned and walked out of the room. They heard his footsteps echo away up the stairs.

Castiel looked down at the floor.

"I should have told him," said Castiel.

"Hey," said Sam, "don't beat yourself up about it. Dean's always had a hair-trigger temper. I'll go talk to him."

Sam went up the stairs as well, leaving Castiel sitting with his hands folded and his head bowed in the living room.

***

Dean was standing in his bedroom, staring out the window. Even though he had aged, there was something about how he held himself that was so very _Dean_ it broke Sam's heart.

Sam startled when Dean spoke without turning around.

"Hey," he said, "you remember when we were kids, and I chased you through the cornfield out by Jeff's old place?"

Sam smiled at the memory.

"Yeah, I do," he said.

"And you said I couldn't keep up because I was the older brother, and you were faster?" said Dean.

"Yeah," said Sam, "but you caught me."

Dean smiled, and nodded.

"What's this about, Dean?" asked Sam. Dean turned to him, eyes shining brightly.

"This time I can't catch you, Sammy."

Dean had spoken softly, but Sam heard the hitch in his voice. 

Sam sighed.

"Look," he said, "don't be hard on Cas for not telling you, he didn't mean - "

Dean shook his head.

"I know, Sam," he said, "I was being a jerk. But..."

Sam waited patiently.

"I can't save you if I'm gone," he said, his voice strained, "Who's gonna watch out for you now, Sam?"

"I will," said Sam, "You have to let this go, Dean. You have to. You've never been able to see me as a grown man, as a hunter, just the little brother you had to protect."

Dean finally turned to look at him.

"It's my job," he said, rubbing his face, "and I – I can't go, Sam. I can't go til you do."

Sam stepped forward and hugged him.

"I know, Dean," he said in a whisper, "and thanks."

Dean nodded against his shoulder.

"Let's go find out what this thing is, all right?" asked Sam. "I'll go get Cas."

Dean looked up at his brother and nodded. He sat down on his bed and Sam went back downstairs to get the angel.

***

As he descended the stairs, Sam heard a familiar voice. He froze.

"...Cas, there's something going on, I'm sure of it," he heard his own voice say.

Sam turned around and bolted back up the stairs.

Dean lifted his head and looked at his brother.

"I'm _here_ ," said Sam in a panic.

"I know," said Dean. "Ain't it awesome?"

"No, not _me_ me, _now_ me!" hisses Sam.

Dean stared at him, uncomprehending.

"Dean?" came a voice, drifting up from downstairs. A familiar voice. _Sam's_ voice!

Sam backed up and knocked his shin into the side of Dean's bed hard enough to yelp.

The penny dropped in an instant. Dean's eyes went wide and he threw himself into the bed, throwing the covers over himself, grabbing the various connections to the monitors and attaching them.

"Was that you, Dean?" Sam heard his own voice calling up the stairs, "Are you okay?"

" _Shit_ ," Dean whispered, and then, "Where's Cas?"

Sam's eyes mimicked his brother's terror, and he shook his head.

His elder self was climbing the stairs.

Dean cast about himself and then indicated the floor underneath his bed.

Sam stared at him, shaking his head, his lips pinched together in a silent argument of _what Dean you want me to get under the bed seriously like some girl you're hiding_?

Dean's wide eyes and emphatic nod _yes_ , pointing under the bed in fury, gave Sam all the answer he needed. Cursing, whether it was himself or Dean or the universe at large, Sam wasn't sure. He hit the floor and rolled under Dean's bed just as his elder self reached the top of the staircase and entered the room. Aside from a brief flutter of the blanket hanging over the edge of the bed, there was no sign that anyone was there at all.

"Hey, Dean," he heard himself say. His voice sounded worn, and different, but still somehow so much his own that he could feel it reverberating through him.

"Hi Sam," said Dean, and the elder version of Sam sat down on the bed, the springs creaking, and young Sam held his breath.

"I know you haven't been feeling great lately," he said, "and I wanted to check on you."

Dean stared at his brother, knowing his younger counterpart was underneath the bed, and was suddenly very thankful that his brother had come to him, had come back to him, that they had both left the life, that they were the kind of guys that had Christmases now.

"I'll be fine," Dean reassured him, "it's just old age, little brother."

Sam smiled that strange half-grin peculiar to him.

"Yeah, if you say so," he said, "I was thinking maybe me and Sarah could bring Abe over to see you in a couple of days?"

"Sure thing," Dean replied. 

Sam's thoughts suddenly took a very odd turn when he thought about the Sam sitting on the bed - this Dean's Sam, now-Sam. This Sam was Dean's friend, his brother; a person he had complete confidence in and who no longer bore him ill will. This was truly a family now.

And _young_ Sam, _under-the-bed_ Sam, the Sam with so many doubts about him, whose happy memories didn't have Dean in them, whose thoughts and moral compass and even sanity had been torn apart by the war, during the war, after the war. The little brother with suspicion, with anger, with justified rage. The little brother who no longer trusted and looked up to Dean, but even feared him. Sam had started to think, in those days, that the word _hate_ might not be far on the horizon.

He was so caught up in these thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that the other Sam had spoken to Dean.

"Dean," he said, "I absolutely do not want to drag you into this, not after all this time."

Dean stared at his brother.

"Huh?" said Dean Winchester, rocket scientist.

"Something's hunting us," said Sam.

Dean gaped.

"Some... _thing_...is hunting us," Sam clarified.

Dean stared at him, speechless.

"Like I said, I don't want to drag you back into this," said his brother.

"Aren't there other hunters?" asked Dean, whose brain and tongue decided to finally join the party.

"Not nearby, and not with an angel, uh, _companion_ ," Sam pointed out.

Dean waved his hand.

"Don't worry about it," Dean said, "I'll have somebody here in a few hours -"

"No, Dean," said Sam.

"No, you don't want to give it to another hunter, or - ?"

Sam sighed.

"I mean no," said Sam, "because it's a monster that's hunting us. Winchesters. Specifically."

"Us?" said Dean, "Well that's not new, Sam. Monsters have pretty much always done that."

"I guess they didn't like being targets."

Dean laughed dismissively.

"Targets?" he said, "Monsters kill people, Sam!"

"And for most of our lives, we killed them," said Sam, "The Winchester name isn't exactly a secret. And they are coming after my family – including you and Cas."

Dean stared at his brother.

"How the hell do you know all this?" asked Dean.

Sam smiled.

"I was always better at research than you," he said.

"Look," said Dean, "let me and Cas take care of this one, okay? There's a reason you got out."

"Dean - "

Dean sat up in bed so quickly Sam drew back, reminded suddenly of his brother young again, grinning at him from the driver's seat of the Impala, a flash of green eyes. 

The memory lances through him in a way that almost hurts.

"No, Sam," Dean said, "this isn't me lying, or laying any old bullshit on you because I'm the protective big brother. We washed our hands of all that, years ago. You're a grown man now, and it took me a hell of a long time to realize that you were pretty damn good on your own. But the last thing Sarah or Abe need is to lose you. You have a family now, you can't go throwing yourself at this stuff."

"Yeah, well, Dean," Sam shot back, "you're my family too. And you were my family first. You're too sick to be chasing monsters."

Younger Sam, underneath the bed, listened to all this in surprise and with not a little warmth of heart. Things had changed between them, it seemed; healthier, for the better. There was hope, after all. Maybe he'd been too hard on Dean. Maybe they'd been too hard on each other.

Dean sighed again.

"I'm telling you, Sam," said Dean, "it's Sarah and Abe you've got to think of first. And you got out of the life for a reason. Don't get dragged back on into it again."

There was silence for a while.

"You know what?" Sam said, "You're right, Dean. I found out about this and was ready to go, to hunt, just because it always felt like my responsibility."

"But it never really was," Dean replied, almost a whisper, "I should have never gone to Stanford to get you."

"All that was water under the bridge a long time ago," said Sam, "Thanks for reminding me there's a reason I chose to leave the life."

Sam got up to leave, and then turned around. On impulse, he hugged his older brother.

"And, uh, thanks. For everything," said Sam, and he turned out the door. His footsteps disappeared down the stairs.

Younger Sam slid out from underneath the bed just as they heard the screen door slam downstairs.

"That was easy," he said.

Dean was still looking at the door with some suspicion.

"Yeah, it was," he said. "But I think it'll hold him for a while. We better figure this out. We don't have a lot of time."

***

Downstairs in the kitchen, they were discussing a plan of action.

"We can't exactly suit up and investigate," said Dean. "We've lived in this area for years. Everybody knows us on sight."

"How do you explain Cas to other people?" Sam asked.

"Grandson," said Dean, grinning. 

Castiel looked slightly uncomfortable about this but said nothing.

"Well, I could go investigate," said Sam, "I mean, nobody's seen me this age around here. I doubt they'd notice anything aside from an uncanny resemblance."

"Is investigating even going to be worth it?" asked Dean, "We know it's this Mothra thing."

"Mothman," Sam corrected, and Dean rolled his eyes. "And we don't know that for sure."

"Whatever," said Dean, "We're kind of lost, and I've been out of the game too long. I'm rusty."

"Well, what about leaving for a while?" Sam suggested. "We could go camping, draw it away from this area."

"Camping?" said Dean, "You really think that's a good idea?"

"Dean," said Sam, "it's been years. You're retired. Let's do something that families do – real families, that don't know anything about demons or the apocalypse."

"Well, sure," said Dean, "I figure you're only here on a short visit, why not make you happy?"

"That sounds like a good plan," said Castiel.

"Great," said Dean, rubbing his hands together. "Now, who's hungry?"

***

Sam went out onto the porch in the dusk. He stood there, just feeling the warmth of the wind. It must be deep summer here; there was no chill in the air at all.

There was a lot to take in, and to think about. He honestly never believed they'd get this far, that the three of them would meet tragic ends. And here they are, domestic and happy, in ways he couldn't have imagined.

He stared off into the cornfield as if it held answers.

There was someone standing on the lawn. 

Sam squinted and then drew back in shock.

"Pamela?!" he said, startled, and she was on him before he could register surprise.

***

Dean pushed the screen door open, his hands full of plates piles with cheeseburgers.

"You gotta try these, Sammy, I perfected these burgers over all these years -"

He looked down and saw Sam's prone body lying on the porch. 

"SAM!" he shouted, nearly dropping the burgers. "Cas, get out here! Now!"

***

Sam sat at the table, holding an ice pack against his head. Cas walked up to him and gently took it away. The angel put two fingers to Sam's head and healed him. Dean handed Sam a beer, and drank from one himself.

"So, Pamela," said Dean. "Huh."

"Yeah. But Dean - this can't be it. I mean Cas said it was something too powerful for him to handle. It can't just be a single ghost."

"It's not a ghost," said Castiel. "Something else has manifested, but I can't tell what it is."

"Well, she was a psychic," Dean said. "Wouldn't that make her stronger?"

"Not this strong, Dean," Castiel replied. "Believe me."

"OK," said Dean. "Then I'm going out there."

Dean walked out onto the porch just as Sam caught up with him.

"Be careful out here, Dean," said Sam. "We still don't know what we're dealing with."

"Ha, Pamela?" asked Dean. "She was always a little sweet on me. I'll be fine."

As if they had the same instinct - and maybe they did - they both turned to look at the cornfield.

There was someone standing there, next to the cornstalks.

"Max?" Dean called. "Hey, it's not - " 

Max attacked Dean, knocking him unconscious.

Sam yelled for Castiel as he tried to separate the two of them. The angel threw the door open and grabbed Dean, pulling him inside. Sam followed swiftly after them and shut the door in the face of the crowd gathering out there in the dusk.

***

In the kitchen, Castiel gave Sam his patented What The Fuck look.

"I don't think it's wise for anyone to leave this house until we know what we're dealing with," growled the angel.

"Sorry, Cas," said Sam. 

Castiel turned around from where he was checking on Dean, still looking daggers at Sam. 

He was pointing at the window.

Pamela, Max, and other faces were visible through the glass. A crowd had gathered. They all stared in the same direction, into the house, at the three men inside.

"Who are they?" Castiel demanded. "Do you know them?"

Sam nodded.

"Yes," he said. "They're all people who we killed, or were killed because of us. Some were possessed."

"They were demons," said Castiel.

"They were humans possessed by demons," Sam corrected.

"And these people were...?" Castiel prompted.

"These were the people we killed because demons were possessing them," said Sam. "Some of them, anyway."

"What about the exorcism?" Castiel asked.

"We stopped using it," Sam confessed. "Most of the time, the hosts died anyway; the demons usually did a number on them. We started to look at it like mercy killing."

Castiel looked at the faces gathered at the window. He narrowed his eyes.

"But - that's April," he said. "I know her."

"It's not just the demon-possessed people we killed out there," said Sam. "Maybe it's the people who were killed because of us. All three of us."

Dean groaned from where he lay on the floor, and managed to pull himself up into a sitting position.

"Ugh," he said. "Remind me not to try that again."

He looked up at the window and blanched.

"What are they doing here?" he asked.

"I can think of only one reason," said Castiel.

"What's that?" asked Dean.

"Revenge."

***

Dean sat at the table, cradling his head in his hands. Cas healed him, just as he had done for Sam.

"Why now?" Dean asked.

"Dean's right," said Sam. "It's been years and we're all out of the business. Well, you two are."

"I don't know," said Castiel.

"And this isn't ordinary haunting," said Dean. "This is, like, everyone."

"It's possible that someone conjured them here," Castiel suggested.

"For what?" asked Dean. "A ghost kegger? 'Hey, everyone who hates the Winchesters, they're old men now, why don't you come on over and party?'"

Castiel gave Dean a look that could be best translated as wondering why he'd chosen the Winchesters to throw his lot in with after all his billions of years of existence.

"Something like that, yes," he finally said.

"But that would mean someone had to cast this spell," said Sam. "Do you know anyone in the area that might have a grudge against us?"

Dean laughed.

"We're the Winchesters," he said. "Who doesn't have a grudge against us?"

He thought about it for a while.

"But no one comes to mind," he said. "No one local, anyway."

"Dean's right," said Castiel. "This is very powerful magic, and as far as I'm aware, there are no witches or warlocks in the area. We made sure of that when we moved in."

"And the house has protective wards?" asked Sam. "Still? Even though we've been out of the business for decades?"

"I'm not stupid, Sam," Dean said. "Forewarned is forearmed."

Sam studied his brother.

"I guess you never really get out of the business," he said.

"You are out of the business," Castiel said vehemently. "And it's going to stay that way."

"Okay, okay," said Sam, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"You're out," said Cas. "You're both out. Let's figure out how to keep it that way this time."

"I'm not sure there is such a thing," said Dean, looking extremely unconcerned about it, as stormclouds gathered on Castiel's brow.

"There is," Cas intoned. "Now, we should - "

"Uh, guys," Sam interrupted. They looked like they were about to square off, but they turned to him. 

"Cas, you said the ghosts couldn't get in here?" he asked.

Cas nodded, never taking his eyes off Dean. Sam had never been sure if that look had been because Cas thought if he took his eyes off Dean for a second, he'd weasel out of his sight, or if there was another reason. Sam had suspected, for a long time, that their 'profound bond' might be very profound indeed.

Sam wasn't stupid either.

"This house is warded like Bobby's panic room," said Cas. "Nothing can get in here."

"Okay," said Sam. "So where are they going now? Are they giving up?"

Dean and Cas broke their heated staring contest to rush to the window. The ghosts were leaving in twos and threes, disappearing into the cornfield.

"They're not giving up," said Dean.

"They're headed to Sam's house," said Castiel.

***

"We gotta draw them away from your house, Sam," said Dean.

"Let's leave," said Sam. "Go camping, like I said."

"That might be a good idea," said Castiel. "We can try to draw the monster away from him. After all, you're still Sam and Dean, and if it's hunting the Winchesters, it might be confused enough to follow us instead."

They made a break for the Impala while the ghosts were otherwise occupied. Sam said a quick prayer that his future incarnation would stay indoors tonight.

***

"So get this," said Dean from behind the wheel, and Sam raised his eyebrows at the use of his favorite phrase. 

The Impala cruised down an empty highway into a forest that only got thicker as they drove.

"Hey, I did the research, I get to say it," Dean said.

"Whatever, Dean," said Sam.

"Okay," said Dean, "So Mothman appeared between 1966 to 1967 in West Virginia. Lots of people reported it. Then a bridge collapsed killing 46 people and the reports stop after that."

"Huh," said Sam. "1967 is a long time ago. Maybe it's a coincidence. I mean, there are other things out there. An angel?"

"Not angels," said Castiel from the backseat. "There's no reason an angel would need ghosts to do its dirty work. Angels are perfectly capable of doing that on their own."

"Okay," said Sam. "Well maybe it's something we've never seen before. There are plenty of things out there."

"Right," said Dean. "But if you find out about this - now-you, I mean - you - he - isn't - aren't - going to leave it alone."

Dean shook his head.

" _God_ this is weird," he said, with feeling.

***

The campsite was one Sam didn't know, but he grinned to himself at how fitting it was for them.

An old, sprawling, abandoned estate in the woods, with empty buildings and cabins dotting the shoreline of the lake. The forest was dark and deep. No one knew about this place, or came here camping if they did.

Except Dean. Of course.

When the found the clearing, Sam helped Dean set up the tent while Castiel checked around the perimeter for any threats. 

"Sun's going down soon," said Dean, looking up at the sky. "I'll make a fire, we can cook those cheddar brats we got at the store."

His eyes got dreamy.

"I got some peanut butter," he said, "spread it on those things, dripping, greasy goodness - just - mm."

He kissed his fingers in an Italian chef's kiss.

"Gross, Dean," said Sam.

"Aw, come on!" Dean cajoled him. "You love cheddar brats. No? We're _camping_ , Sam, you can't eat salad when you're camping, it's against the natural order of things."

Sam chuckled to himself, and then an arrow of pain went through his heart, and he suddenly felt like crying.

"Hey hey hey hey," Dean said, grabbing his brother's face, "It's okay, I bought salad too, you don't need to cry."

And now the tears were coming freely, and Sam just dropped everything and hugged Dean as hard as he could.

"What's brought this on?" asked Dean. "You're gonna crack my back if you keep that up, Sammy."

Sam let go of his brother and tried to school his expression, but it was clearly too late, the dam had broken. He threw down the hammer he'd been using to put in the tent stakes, turned toward the lake, purple in the late dusk, and stared out over the water.

Dean folded his arms and watched his little brother. He waited.

"It's just," said Sam. "We're not in a good place right now, Dean. Back during my time."

Dean nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I remember. But it won't be forever."

Sam smiled, and huffed a laugh.

"It's, ah," Sam said. "Good to have my big brother back."

Dean walked over to him and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Then act like it," he said. 

He stared seriously into Sam's eyes.

"And eat the goddamned cheddar brats," he said. 

Sam shouted a laugh, wiped the tears from his cheek, and sat down with his brother to build a fire.

***

Flames leaped towards the stars as Sam and Dean sat together sipping on beers, watching the fire. 

Dean occasionally turned the pointed sticks impaling the brats, crackling and spitting as they dripped the melted cheddar into the fire.

"How was the wedding?" Sam asked, after a while.

"What? Yours and Sarah's?" asked Dean. 

"Yeah."

"You are such a girl."

"Dean..."

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not? Because of time travel paradox, or whatever?" asked Sam.

"No, because of the pranks!" Dean said. "Element of surprise, Sammy."

"Oh my _God_ , Dean, you pulled pranks on me at my wedding?" demanded Sam.

Dean shrugged, spreading his arms wide. Sam laughed, shaking his head.

"Why am I even surprised?" he said.

"You know me, Sammy," Dean replied.

"And you never stopped calling me Sammy?" he asked.

"Nope."

Dean leaned back and looked up at the twilit sky. 

"And you and Cas...?"

Dean side-eyed his brother.

"Me n' Cas?" he asked.

Sam just looked at him. Dean looked back. Then he smiled in a way Sam had never seen, soft and sure.

He nodded, once, quick.

"Me n' Cas," he confirmed.

Sam laughed again, raised his beer, and Dean reached forward to take the brats off the fire.

"Awww yeah," he said, as he put the steaming brats into buns. He looked at Sam.

"Peanut butter?"

***

They ate their brats in silence, which Sam eventually broke.

"It's really bad, you know," he said. "Back then. When I came from."

Dean looked up, his mouth absolutely stuffed with food. He chewed enough to speak through it, making Sam look away in disgust.

"I know," said Dean, his voice somewhat muffled, "But it gets better. I swear."

Sam grinned.

"Seems that way," he said. "Honestly, I wish I could stay. It seems so peaceful now."

He thought about it.

"Well, mostly," he said. "Apart from the vengeful ghosts thing, which is pretty familiar."

"Peace was never really our thing, was it?" Dean asked, having mercifully swallowed his food. He rooted around in the cooler until he found two more beers and handed one to Sam.

"Hey, you think Cas wants one of these brats?" Dean asked.

"I do not require food, Dean," Castiel intoned in his ear. Dean jumped a mile.

"God _damn_ it, Cas!" Dean shouted. "Warn a guy, willya?!"

Sam wouldn't swear to it, but it sure looked like a triumphant expression passed across Castiel's usually stern features.

"I was watching," Castiel explained.

"You're creepy," Dean complained. Sam noticed their hands brushed together, and he smiled to himself.

"Something funny, Samantha?" Dean demanded.

"It's just...the same," he said. "Exactly the same as you two have always been. Like an old married couple."

"What can I say, I got used to him," groused Dean, just as Castiel said, "We _are_ an old married couple, Sam."

Sam's jaw dropped. Dean turned an interestingly bright shade of strawberry, the constellations of his freckles standing out on his pinked skin.

Then something moved in the forest, Castiel's eyes narrowed, and that bombshell would have to wait.

"What is it, Cas?" Dean asked.

"Not sure," Cas said. "I'll go check it out."

"Is that safe?" whispered Sam. "I can come with you."

"Someone needs to stay with Dean," Cas whispered back. Sam was jolted by the reminder that Dean was old, now. The knowledge had disappeared as they talked. Dean was still his brother, but confronted with the cold reality of his advanced age, Sam realized that he couldn't be left alone.

"Oh, for God's sake, stop treating me like I'm made of glass!" Dean said, interrupting Sam's train of thought. "We'll all go."

He drew his gun.

"You brought a gun _camping_?" Sam asked.

"Always be prepared, Sam," Dean said. "Didn't they teach you that in Girl Scouts?"

"Dean!" Sam said.

"Old habits die hard," Dean said. "Aren't you glad I brought it?"

"Shut up, both of you," said Castiel. "Let's go."

***

They walked down the forest path in the darkness, looking in all directions. Once they crested the hill, they could see the abandoned estate beneath them in the moonlight. Dean motioned them onward.

"Let me guess," said Sam. "We have to go into the abandoned buildings."

Dean grinned and hit Sam on the shoulder, obviously thrilled to be back in the saddle again.

"Don't we always, Sammy?" he asked, with the excitement of a little kid.

"Stop calling me that," Sam said, but he was smiling.

Castiel glanced over at them, and with a slight nod, indicated he was also amused. And possibly even having fun.

They walked through the overgrown grass and into the empty building, Dean taking point. 

"Hey," said Dean. "Maybe we should move our stuff in here. Roof over our heads."

"That might be a good idea, with the storm coming," said Castiel.

"What storm?" asked Sam.

"It's on the way," said Cas. "I can feel it."

"Great," said Dean, sarcasm dripping off the syllable. He pointed his flashlight at the floor. "Scratch that. Looks like the bats made a home in here, the floor's covered in guano. Let's check this out and get back to the tent. If Cas is right, we'll have to batten down the hatches."

***

They made their way back to the tent, having found nothing. Castiel stood in the clearing and tried to reach out into the ether and see if he could find anything.

He opened his eyes, dully glowing blue.

"It looks like it's all of them," he said, blinking the glow away until his eyes looked human again.

"All of them?" asked Sam.

"Yes," Castiel replied. "Every ghost with a personal grudge against the Winchesters. They've followed us here, so our gambit was successful."

Dean whistled.

"Wow," he said.

"How the hell are we going to stop that?" Sam asked. "That's got to be enough ghosts for an army."

"A ghost army!" Dean crowed. Sam shot him a look.

"Guess we shouldn't have made so many enemies," Dean relented.

"It was war," Castiel said. "I can't imagine, if it were my own enemies -"

"Whoa, whoa," said Dean. "We're not going there. No. That is a path we are not going down. I told you, Cas, you did what you had to."

"Dean - " Castiel argued.

"No," Dean said firmly. "That's the end of it. Sam, what've we got?"

"Not much of an arsenal, Dean," Sam said. "I mean, we came out here to draw whatever this was away from my family. We didn't bring enough."

"There's a chance this is being caused by a single agent," said Castiel.

"What, like a witch's spell or something?" asked Dean.

"Something like that," Castiel said. "What I don't understand is - why now? Why would these ghosts manifest now?"

"Cas is right," said Sam. "It does seem like magic."

"Right," said Dean. "So we research, what? Monsters that can raise the dead?"

"No," said Castiel. "Monsters that desire vengeance."

"I'm all out of ideas here, Dean," said Sam. "And there's no wifi this far out."

"I might have something," said Castiel.

"Yeah, what?" asked Dean.

"The Chinese believe in the _you hun yei gui_ ," Castiel responded.

"Come again?"

"It means lonely spirits and wild ghosts," Castiel explained. "A powerful spell might bring them out, but they would need a focus for their hatred and vengeance."

"Us," said Sam, miserable.

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "So we need to find out who cast the spell. And then - "

"I can think of one monster that wants revenge," Dean interrupted. They looked at him.

"We do."

***

"You think it's somebody human?" asked Sam.

"Sure," said Dean. "Hell, look at what Dad did - what we did - in the name of vengeance. Winchesters have a vengeance streak a mile wide."

"We need to get inside," said Castiel. "The storm is here."

As if on cue, lighting made the night as bright as daylight. Thunder cracked the sky. 

Dean and Sam didn't need further warning and climbed into the tent. It was large, and dry; meant for several people, it housed a folding table and was easy to stand up in.

Castiel set the kerosene lantern on the table and turned it on.

The wind outside started to pick up. Rain splattered across the roof of the tent.

"I've discovered who is doing this," said Castiel. "Angel radio has been much louder lately."

"Yeah? Who is it?" asked Dean.

"Do either of you recognize the name Joe Tyne?" Castiel asked.

"Never heard of him," said Sam.

"Doesn't ring a bell," said Dean.

"He's a bounty hunter," Castiel explained.

"Awesome," said Dean.

"Not exactly," said Cas. "He's a bounty hunter for the supernatural. As in, he works for supernatural beings."

"How does that work?" Dean asked.

"He'll take a job for anyone with a grievance," said Castiel. "He charges a high price, too, from what I hear. Angel radio is full of chatter these days."

"Demons and ghosts, supernatural beings, pay him?" Sam asked. "With what? Money?"

"Money isn't the only currency with value," said Castiel. "He trades in other things too - rare items, spells, souls, concepts - "

"How do you trade in concepts?" Sam asked.

"Imagination of a child, mental acuity of an accountant, things like that," said Castiel.

"Wow," said Dean. "There a lot of coin in that?"

"To the right buyer, yes," said Castiel.

"So, someone has, what?" asked Sam. "Paid him to kill us?"

"That, or give anyone with a grudge against the Winchesters an opportunity for vengeance," said Castiel.

"Well, that's a long list of people," said Dean. "And demons. Hell, half the supernatural world used to be gunning for us, angels and demons included."

"Yeah. It's a long list," said Sam. "I'm sure it's gotten even longer."

"If we want to put an end to this," said Castiel, "we have to stop him."

"But this guy - he's human, right?" Sam asked, uncertain.

"Yes," Castiel replied.

"And he's here?" asked Dean.

"Yes," Castiel said again.

"And I assume he's down by the estate?" asked Sam.

Castiel nodded.

"We don't kill humans, Cas," said Sam.

He and Dean exchanged a look.

"Guess this means we're going back out into the storm," said Dean.

***

They returned to the abandoned estate, the storm whipping up the wind and rain. Sam and Dean crept around the main building. Sam gestured to Dean to go around the other way. Dean shook his head.

"There are two doors, Dean," Sam said, pitching his voice to be heard above the wind. "It's the best way to catch him."

"We are _not_ splitting up, Sam!" hissed Dean. "You wanna shut up?! He's gonna hear us!"

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. He turned to enter the building when a punch came out of nowhere and brought him down.

A man emerged from the shadows, chuckling.

"Well," he said. "The Winchester brothers. You know, I thought you two would be harder to find, given your reputation. Undeserved, in my opinion."

"Congratulations," Dean growled. "You're only one Winchester down."

The man smiled.

"You don't think I came here alone, do you?"

Dean was about to reply with a biting one-liner when he felt the impact against the back of his head and went down like a ton of bricks.

***

Dean came to slowly, his vision blurring. He noticed he was tied to a chair, and his heart beat wildly in his chest, rage and guilt warring in his veins.

"You know," said the man, who Dean assumed was Joe Tyne, "I thought you two would be smarter than this. I mean, I'd heard of the holy terrors, the Winchesters, the story monsters tell their little ones before they tuck them into bed at night. And you got taken down by a _ghost_ that got the jump on you. Rookie stuff, I'd say."

"Fuck you," Dean spat, along with a worryingly large amount of blood.

"Huh," Tyne responded, looking at the blood with disdain. "Yes, I'd heard you were the stupid one. Still, I thought I'd have to be very clever to get the drop on you two - but you just walked right into the trap! Seriously, how are you two still alive? Or working as hunters?"

Dean looked around the room and didn't see his brother anywhere. Or Castiel, for that matter, but he was keeping that ace up his sleeve.

"Where's Sam?" Dean demanded, always the first and most important question.

"Somewhere safe," said Tyne. "Despite how easy it was to catch you, I thought it'd be best to separate the two of you. Reputations like yours aren't made for no reason. You seem like idiots, but I could be mistaken. Better safe than sorry."

"Why are you doing this?" asked Dean.

"Someone has paid a very, very high price for your head, old man," said Tyne.

"Yeah, well," said Dean, turning on the insouciant charm, "who wouldn't?"

"Speaking of which," Tyne continued, "Your brother's looking good for - what is it? Seventy? He find a wishing well or the Fountain of Youth or something?"

"What can I say?" Dean said. "Winchesters age well."

Tyne considered this possibility, and shook his head.

"No," he mused, "I don't think so. It's gotta be something else. Unless - "

Dean held his breath.

Tyne walked back and forth, playing with the knife in his hand. Suddenly, he pointed it at Dean.

"That's it!" he cried. "That's not really Sam, is it? I don't know if he's a glamor or a hex, but boy, the two of you sure convinced those ghosts! You know what they are, right?"

"Something Chinese," Dean muttered, secretly relieved at Tyne's misunderstanding about Sam.

" _You hun yei gui_ ," said Tyne. "Vengeful spirits, the unquiet dead. In this case - all the people you wronged."

"They were demons!" Dean shouted.

"They were demonic hosts," said Tyne. "Not everyone has that pretty little tattoo you've got printed on your skin. You two never really think about who you're actually killing, do you? Anyway, you might have recognized a few of your friends."

"Yeah," said Dean. "Pamela."

"And others," agreed Tyne. "Seems there are a lot of people who've got a bone to pick with you, Dean Winchester."

"All right, fine," Dean relented. "We're jerks. First class. I accept that. Now, who hired you?"

"You're the one tied to the chair," said Tyne. "I don't think you get to make demands."

"You got me," said Dean, appealing to his ego. "Sam too. What difference will it make?"

"I don't know, Dean," said Tyne. "Who do you think would still hold a grudge after all these years?"

Tyne flipped the knife over and over in his hand. He looked at Dean.

"Revenge, as they say," he said, "is a dish best served cold."

***

Sam woke up. He blinked into the darkness, and when he tried to get up, he found he was tied to a chair. He began to struggle, and yell, when Castiel suddenly appeared in front of him and hushed him.

"Cas?" Sam said, startled. Castiel put a finger to his lips and then started to undo Sam's bonds.

"Quiet, Sam," said Castiel. "Your brother's been captured and Tyne isn't far away."

"What's going on here, Cas?" asked Sam.

"Tyne might have done the summoning," Castiel said, "but he's not in charge of the _you hun yei gui_."

"So what do we do?" asked Sam.

"First, we kill the man," said Castiel. "Then, we kill the monster."

***

Dean grinned at Tyne.

"What do you have to be happy about?" Tyne asked.

Dean lifted his hands, showing that he'd escaped his ropes. 

"Well, would you look at that," he said, and sent the bounty hunter a shit-eating grin. "That's the thing about the bad guys - y'all _talk_ too damned much!"

Then Dean looked up at Tyne, and something changed in his expression. Something around the eyes.

Tyne's eyes bulged as Dean lunged for him.

Tyne tried to fight, but he was clearly out of practice. Dean threw punches like he was still in his twenties, absolutely reveling in it. He got his arms around Tyne and threw him outside into the storm.

"Don't you want to know who hired me?" Tyne shouted over the wind, in a bid to save his own life.

"Y'know what?" said Dean. "I really don't care."

Dean stomped hard on Tyne's shin, causing the man to shout and recoil.

"I just want you and your _you hun yei gui_ away from my family!"

***

Tyne looked up at Dean from where he had landed in the puddles of mud, the rain coursing down his face and mixing with the blood dripping from his mouth.

"You know," said Tyne in a new tone of voice that gave Dean pause, "the _you hun yei gui_ isn't just a name."

"Save it," said Dean.

"There's also an idiom," Tyne went on, " _gu hun yei gui_ , what the Chinese call the homeless, or those who wander aimlessly. I guess the two of you are _gu hun yei gui_ yourselves."

"Shut up," said Dean.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Tyne asked. "No home. No real family to speak of. I know you go on and on about family and loyalty, but I don't really see it, Dean. I mean - where's your brother? You're an old man facing an army of ghosts alone."

Dean looked around himself, but the surrounding forest was empty of brother or angel.

"Oh, are you looking for your fallen angel?" Tyne sneered. "Convinced yourself he's family too? All I see is a lot of heartbreak, betrayal, and murder from the three of you. Not a family in my way of measuring."

"You don't know anything about us," snarled Dean.

"I know you're no better than serial killers," Tyne bit back. "All three of you, with no real excuses. I know your daddy never let you be a kid and you had to grow up too fast. Abandoned you and your little brother in motels all across this great country, and for what? And he didn't just abandon you once, he did it over and over and over again. Enough to scare you into dragging your brother right back into this mess when he thought he'd gotten out of it for good."

Dean circled Tyne, not making a move yet.

"And how exactly did you stay afloat, Dean?" Tyne went on. "I mean, hustling pool don't pay that much cash. Kid brother's hungry, you'd sacrifice anything, wouldn't you? Can't imagine what you'd have to do to make ends meet."

Tyne looked up into Dean's eyes, and he was caught there in that gaze.

"I know what happens in truck stops and behind dive bars to desperate young men in need of money. With a mouth like that, I'm sure you fetched a pretty penny." 

Thunder crashed and the rain came down in a torrent as Dean snapped, roaring, bent on destroying the man in front of him, his entire self burning with incandescent rage, fists hitting anywhere and everywhere, until he could feel blood and pulp where it shouldn't be, yelling the entire time and only noticing when there was a break in the power and fury of the storm. And somehow, Tyne kept talking.

"To my mind, you're the only one that believes in this family," he shouted. "The only one who has sacrificed for it, bled for it, died for it. I know it all, Dean Winchester, and what I see is you abandoned, again...and again...and again!"

" _Shut up shut up shut up shut up!_ " Dean realized he was screaming, chanting, and he suddenly wrenched himself away from Tyne with an enormous effort, backing away. 

Dean stood there up to his elbows in blood, his breath coming in great shuddering gasps as he tried to get himself under control.

"I'm not arguing with you," he finally said, in a voice approaching normal. "We're going to finish this, mostly so I don't have to hear you talk anymore."

The man on the ground was bruised and bleeding, barely able to move in the mud and the wet.

"Don't get me wrong, Dean," Tyne croaked through a mess of blood, spitting out a few teeth. "I admire you. I understand how hard it can be. Why you might need to do unsavory things for money - whatever those things might have been - to keep your little brother alive."

"You admire me?" demanded Dean. "So why are you doing this? Why are you trying to kill an old man? Seems pretty desperate. Why not go after other hunters? They're young and fresh, I'm sure there are plenty of spirits wanting revenge."

"Oh, Dean, I thought you understood," said Tyne. "I'm a bounty hunter."

Suddenly, Tyne was back on his feet without any warning and he slashed at Dean with his knife. Dean dodged it easily; Tyne was punch-drunk by now, and weaving erratically.

"I'm only in it for the money."

"Then why'd you take this job?" Dean asked.

"You gotta understand, Dean," said Tyne. "It was a _lot_ of money."

"You keep talking about money," said Dean. "You got someone to take care of?"

"Doesn't matter," said Tyne. "You're going down, and then I'm going back for Sam and his family."

"And that's where this interview ends," said Dean. "See, you might've been able to sweet-talk me, but the second that name comes out of your mouth, you're drawing breath on borrowed time."

The fight began again in earnest, this time Tyne giving as good as he got, and Dean was surprised to find that he was matched in skill and stamina. 

"Who's coming for you now, old man?" shouted Tyne. "You're alone!"

There was a sound, suddenly, off to the left. Tyne flinched, looking in the direction of the noise. Dean took the opportunity to land a punch.

"What was that?" Tyne demanded.

"I'm not alone," said Dean.

***

The sky was wild, the wind screaming in the trees, and it seemed like the fight was eternal.

"This ends here and now, you understand?" Dean said. "If you take me down, you leave Sam and his family alone."

"No can do, chief," said Tyne. "I've got a bounty payable on delivery of all the Winchesters. End the line. Wouldn't want his little boy growing up to be just like his dad and his uncle, would we?"

"You're going down," said Dean, deadly serious.

"Yeah? You and whose army?" Tyne taunted him. "Your memory ain't what it used to be, or so I'm told. The great Dean Winchester, so afraid of dying old and alone. I'm doing you a favor; at least you'll be going out, guns blazing."

"Yeah, well," said Dean, "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

"Oh, your angel friend?" Tyne said. "Binding spell. Not too hard, really. Your old buddy Crowley was thrilled to sell it to me."

Dean stared at Tyne. Then his eyes slid sideways.

"Sam?" Dean said.

A shot rang out. Tyne touched the wound that was suddenly spouting blood. Dean looked over Tyne's shoulder.

Tyne turned to look at Sam.

"What - but you're - " he said weakly.

"Family," said Castiel, as Sam put a second bullet in him.

Tyne fell to the ground, his body splashing in the mud. He moved once, twice, and then lay still. 

Castiel looked up suddenly.

"The _you hun yei gui_ ," he said. "They're gone. But I don't understand, they weren't bound to Joe Tyne -"

The body in front of them changed, shrunk, and transformed into another man. Younger, slender, with a thatch of blond hair.

They all recognized him at the same time.

"Adam?" Sam dared to ask, shattering the silence. He threw a look at Castiel.

Dean just stood and stared as the rivulets of rain washed his brother's blood from his arms.

***

"He deserved a proper burial," said Dean, later, as they watched Adam's body burn on a pyre.

"I'm sorry, Dean," said Castiel. "Angel radio is talking about it now. Nobody knew that Adam had escaped."

"Did Michael?" asked Sam. Castiel shook his head.

"I'm afraid my brother didn't make it," he said.

Dean shook his head.

"God, he must have hated us," he said. "To wait this long, to get everyone who wanted a piece of us on his side - and we left him in hell to rot, Sam, Cas, how could we -"

Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder, where he had left the mark of his handprint so long ago.

"We're not doing that," said Cas, slow and steady. "We don't do that anymore. You told me."

Dean shuddered a breath and then nodded.

"I'm sorry, Adam," Sam said. "We should've done better by you."

They watched the body burn.

***

They walked away from the ashes of the pyre, the smoke still raising a column to the heavens. 

Castiel put his hand on Dean's shoulder again.

"Dean, we need to do something about the monster hunting Sam," said Castiel. "Tyne - Adam -may be dead, and the ghosts are gone, but that hasn't destroyed the spell. The monster was under his command and wouldn't have vanished with his death like the ghosts."

"That sucks," said Dean. "How many selfish people out there have cast spells on things that can't escape if they die? Doesn't anybody think ahead?"

Castiel was about to answer him, but Sam interrupted.

"How are we going to get rid of the monster?" asked Sam. "That's what matters right now."

"Hard to say," said Castiel. "It's certainly true that there is an...impressive...number of entities 'gunning' for you both, as you say. You two have made a lot of enemies. Remember, though, this monster isn't under its own power."

"If we destroy this thing," said Sam, "that's the end? It's not going to come after our families? Or you and Dean again?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "Heaven and Hell know you're out of the war. This monster is only obeying commands. We stop it, we end the hunt."

"Great," said Dean. "Let's go get this thing."

***

Some time later, they stood outside of Sam's house at the edge of the cornfield.

Footsteps on the porch echoed out across the empty space. Sam looked up, startled to see the older version of himself walk onto the porch in the darkness. 

He heard that whickering sound again, just behind him, to his left.

The monster was behind them, in the cornfield, closing in fast. 

Dean turned, gun drawn, to face it down. 

The creature grabbed him and threw him hard into Sam. Castiel tackled it to the ground. Sam looked at the angel, puzzled, as light glowed from between his fingers and the monster began to smoke, all while Castiel never took his eyes off of Sam standing on his porch, the three of them hidden just out of his eyeline. The elder version of Sam Winchester stared out at the darkness of the cornfield and saw nothing of his brother, the angel, and his younger self kneeling beneath him, shielded behind the rows of corn.

***

Sam held Dean as they lay sprawled on the ground behind Cas. Sam's older self looked around in suspicion for a few more minutes before retreating into the house.

"I'm sorry, Dean," said Sam.

"Sorry? For what?" Dean asked. "I haven't had this much fun in years."

"You weren't ready," said Sam.

"Totally worth it," Dean said. "I mean, look at us. Look at him."

Castiel's eyes shone with heavenly light, fading as he turned around, and Dean laughed out loud. Sam grinned, and then started laughing too. Castiel turned around and looked at the brothers, sitting together on the ground. 

They won. Again. Against all odds.

"Badass," said Dean. "Just like always."

Castiel went over to them and helped Sam to hoist Dean up. The angel put healing hands on him. Then, they brought him across the cornfields together, and into the house. 

***

The three of them sat in the kitchen, each enjoying a well-deserved beer. 

"Hey Sammy," Dean said, smiling. "You think you could help me up to bed? That hunt really took it out of me."

"Sure thing, Dean," Sam said.

He helped his brother stand up from the table and walk up the stairs. Sam couldn't help noticing how frail his body seemed now, so different from the solid power of his youth. Still, he'd won a fight.

Castiel stared at the clock on the wall, ticking down, in the kitchen.

He followed Sam up the staircase and into Dean's bedroom.

The farmhouse was quiet as they helped Dean into bed. Abby stood up, stretched, and plodded up after them on arthritic joints. She went to lay down in a corner of the room.

Castiel pulled the sheets and blankets over Dean, reattaching the wires from his monitors.

"Man, I'm beat," said Dean. He didn't argue about getting tucked in, or put into bed, which surprised Sam. 

He watched Dean and Cas share a tender look.

Dean put his hand on his friend's arm.

"Thanks for this," said Dean. "Thanks, Castiel."

Sam and Cas looked at each other. Dean hadn't called him Castiel since long before the three of them became family. Dean dozed off, and Castiel went to sit in a dark wooden rocking chair that had been placed in the corner.

***

The sun was about to rise. Sam stood in Dean's bedroom, staring out the window.

Dean had been sleeping lightly, and he woke slowly, which warmed Sam's heart. He'd been accustomed to the zero-to-sixty way they'd woken up their entire lives.

"Mornin', Sammy," Dean said, yawning. "Cas, you ready?"

"Yes, Dean," Cas replied, as though he were reciting a well-rehearsed line. Sam shot him a puzzled look.

"Ready?" asked Sam. "For what?"

"We've got to get that vamp nest in Toledo, remember?" Dean said, smiling. "Jeez Sammy, you'd think you weren't paying attention."

Sam stared at his brother, uncomprehending.

"Vamp nest...in Toledo?" he said. He glanced from Dean to Castiel in confusion. Cas looked as if he had a secret he didn't want to share.

"Uh, sure Dean," Sam said. "And stop calling me Sammy."

"OK, Samantha," Dean said. "Go warm up Baby, willya? We gotta be out of here in five."

Castiel made a signal to Sam, who nodded and turned to follow. As he walked to the door, he noticed that Dean had already fallen asleep again.

***

Out in the hallway, Sam crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow at the angel expectantly.

"I'm sorry, Sam," said Castiel. "I should have warned you. He is mostly lucid, but sometimes he's back there in the past. He only seems to revisit happy memories - or memories that are happy, to him."

"Vamp nest in Toledo is - what, back in 2010 or so?" Sam asked.

Castiel nodded.

"Yes," he said. "Back when you were hunting together. When we all were hunting together."

Back when we were still close, Sam thought, but didn't say.

"But...he's happy, right?" Sam asked. "We're both happy?"

"Yes, Sam," Castiel confirmed. "All of us are. This is just...the eventual conclusion of all things. Dean is content, and he knows you are safe. And I am safe. That is all he ever really wanted."

Sam put his hands through his long hair and shook his head.

"Cas," he said, "Did you do this? Did you bring me here?"

"Yes," said the angel, "I thought you might like to see that sometimes the outcome is good."

Sam laughed.

"We haven't had a lot of that," he admitted.

"Sam," he said, "I cannot save either of you, not anymore. Not with heaven's magic or personal sacrifice. This is the end. I only regret that your lives were not longer, that I could not share more with you and your brother."

"Why'd you bring me here, Cas?" asked Sam.

"To show you that in the end, your brother will be all right," said Castiel, "Whatever you choose."

Sam thought about this, in the confines of his own mind. A time when they didn't need to be afraid, of the world and for each other. A time when trust was a given, not something traded on and easily denied. Just...this. A Kansas cornfield at sunset, Castiel and Dean, Sam and Sarah, and their son and dog.

It was the life they always wanted. It was the life they deserved, after everything they had gone through. It was also a life that Sam was having trouble accepting – not in the sense of believing that it could happen, but that it was a life he personally could accept, after all the wrong they had done.

As if Castiel had read his mind (and he probably had), the angel spoke.

"This isn't about deserved, or deserving," Castiel said, "there is no great heavenly abacus adding up your rights and wrongs to come up with some kind of perfect equation. There is only this. No right, no wrong, just free will, and it is simple. The rain falls on the just and the unjust alike. Sometimes that goes for the sun as well."

***

Outside on the porch together, in the summer sunlight, Sam and Castiel watched the sky, not speaking for some time.

"Cas," Sam said quietly.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Was it worth it?" asked Sam, "Spending this time with us, all the war and the blood and the violence?"

Castiel smiled.

"Your lives are so short compared to mine," he said, "But I have no regrets, Sam. I never have."

They sat quietly for a while together. Abby fell asleep in Sam's lap, snorting softly.

"Cas," Sam said again. The angel looked at him.

"That was just - a monster, and a man. A run-of-the-mill monster, the kind of thing we could take care of – Dean could have taken care of it on his own, even now. Why'd you bring me here?"

Cas looked out across the cornfield, a small, proud smile on his face. 

"I lied," he said, "Dean taught me."

"You had a good teacher," said Sam.

"This will be Dean Winchester's last day on earth," the angel said softly, "and I thought...well, call it a farewell gift. From both of us. The last hunt."

Sam smiled, and then laughed softly. He found tears were building up within him.

"The lie was entirely justified," said Sam. Castiel beamed.

"Thanks," Sam said, clearing his throat, "for everything. For taking care of Dean. For looking after us. I mean, I know it's not enough. It will never be enough. But thanks."

Castiel nods, because there was nothing more to say.

***

Cas climbed the stairs. Sam followed, to say his goodbyes.

The angel sat down in the chair across the room. Dean was fast asleep now, the respirator working.

Sam stood in the doorway, and whispered, "How was the wedding?"

Dean didn't answer. Castiel turned to look at him, a bright blue spark in a study of shadows and light, and said, "I believe the word he would use is _awesome_."

Sam nodded, and smiled. He raised his hand in farewell, and thanks; Castiel inclined his head.

He walked down the stairs, and through the screen door, thinking about the last impression he had of his brother.

The image of Castiel sitting in a chair across from Dean, the angel who had always been there, who would always be there, as the light poured in through the window. Cas, his elbows on his knees, hands soft, watching. Watching over his brother, and by association, himself, as the sun faded into the afternoon and darkened the room into long shadows. 

Castiel, who is forever.

Sam walked down the staircase of the house and towards the surrounding fields, disappearing into the corn.

Inside the house, Castiel looks at the clock.

The second hand sweeps.

The minute hand moves.

The machine lets out a long beep. Castiel lifts his eyes.

"Goodbye, Dean."

***

Sam woke with a start. 

He wiped his mouth. He was in the Impala. The sun was shining through the windows. The smell of two-week-old cheeseburger wrappers had dissipated.

The windows were open.

Dean was yodeling off-key to Def Leppard and grinned in his brother's direction.

"Yooooooo Sammy wake up," he shouted over the music. "We're almost there."

Sam stared at his brother like he had never seen him before. Young, full of energy - _alive_.

He impulsively reached across the bench seat and hugged him. Dean pushed him off.

"What the hell? You ok, Sam?" Dean asked. Sam laughed.

"Yeah," said Sam, "Yeah, Dean. I am."

Castiel suddenly appeared in the backseat in a flurry of feathers and the thump of a rumpled trenchcoat catching the wind as he landed.

Sam exchanged a look with Castiel in the rearview mirror.

Those Frank Sinatra blues held oceans. 

To Dean's eternal surprise and consternation, Sam began to belt out the song on the radio. After a moment of surprise, Dean sang along with him.

The Impala roared along the highway, and for a moment, it was just two brothers on a road trip with an angel in a trenchcoat, annoying the hell out of each other but having the time of their lives. 

Because in the end, that's all it's ever been – and in the end, that's all it will be.


End file.
